


boys and girls in cars

by dejame



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bellamy Blake & Clarke Griffin are Roommates, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Lovers To Enemies, Slow Burn, Soulmates, and Clarke has #trauma, and then, bellamy keeps all his emotions right here and then one day he'll die, if this looks familiar no it doesn't yes it does no, love stories spanning several years? yearning? period, only a little bit supernatural as a treat (to me), or i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26244274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dejame/pseuds/dejame
Summary: In high school, popular party boy Bellamy Blake and valedictorian Clarke Griffin are barely aware of each other.At 18, they go on the worst blind date ever and resolve to never speak to each other ever again.And they don't—until Octavia's mother leaves her in their custody.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 7
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

All Bellamy cares about is his sister. He only wants to see Octavia.

“We understand that,” Officer Pike says but there is no ‘we.’ By the time he’s gotten to DC, the Metropolis Police Sation is a ghost town. Even now, when Bellamy peers past Pike’s office window, the only person he sees is a janitor, who whistles and flicks off the light in the hallway. “We’re still in here!” There’s a muffled _Sorry!_ and then the light clicks back on. Pike’s round face droops in a frown. He glances at the stacks of paperwork on his desk and the message light flashing from his landline. Finally, he faces Bellamy across his desk and sputters, “Your parents—is your father with you?” Bellamy puts his head in his hands. “Or, no, sorry. He’s dead, you said?”

This is why Bellamy fucking hates cops. He’s been explaining the same things since he got here, proving himself to a man who obviously has no idea what he’s doing.

Bellamy’s father isn’t dead. He’s missing. In 2014, Timothy Blake quit his job, emptied his checking and savings accounts across five different banks, bought a one-way ticket to Canada, then another one to Norway, and was never heard from again. His family (like his actual family, the one he claimed, which included a wife and children and certainly not Bellamy or Octavia) hired a private investigator who got as far as the security footage of Oslo Gardermoen Airport. Timmy Blake exited his plane, entered a men’s restroom, dumped his old clothes in a nearby recycling bin, and that’s the last anyone’s seen of him as far as Bellamy’s aware. He doesn’t have any official papers to confirm this. He’s a bastard. No one has ever officially informed Bellamy of anything to do with his father, save for a judge in the aughts who set child support. He had to learn about the vanishing like everyone else: through the papers.

> ECCENTRIC BILLIONAIRE TIMOTHY BLAKE GOES MISSING.

And, anyway, that doesn’t matter because Timmy was never in Bellamy’s life nor Octavia’s and he wouldn’t even officially be declared dead until he’d been gone for five years, meaning he wouldn’t be dead until the end of 2019. Until then, Octavia wasn’t an orphan, not legally, and he should’ve been allowed to see her without parental consent.

“Where’s she now?” he asks because he’s resolved to just show up wherever it is and get her himself. No one’s actually told him yet. Everyone (the person on the phone, the lady at the receptionist desk, Officer Pike) just assumes he knows or something, which is bullshit. Bellamy never knows shit about anything going on with his family. Officer Pike grabs a pen from a cup at the corner of his desk and starts scribbling.

“You’d have to ask DCS,” he says. Then, explaining, “Department of Child Services.”

“Okay.” Bellamy nods. “And where are they?”

“They’re closed for inquires by now, I’m afraid. This number should work by 8 AM tomorrow morning.” He hands Bellamy a sticky note. He says, accusingly, “We tried reaching you earlier. You’re her only family emergency contact.” Bellamy balls his hands into fists.

“I know that. That’s why I drove the six hours to get here. I don’t live in DC.” He shoves the note in his pocket. “And I’m not making any ‘inquiry.’ DCS? CPS? Whatever? Isn’t that for, like, foster kids? It’s for kids who don’t have a home. She has a home.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself.” Bellamy fucking hates cops. Condescending, know-it-all, abusive cops. It’s nearly three AM and he’s over it.

He surmises, “So you’re saying I can’t see my sister.”

“I’m saying you can’t see her _tonight_.”

“So I can’t, then.” Bellamy lays both palms flat on the wooden desk in front of him, pushes himself out of his seat, and walks out of the room. Officer Pike calls after him but he doesn’t turn around.

* * *

Cicadas sound outside the Metropolitan Police Department, moths fly to the lights at the top of the staircase, and Bellamy lights a cigarette wishing it was a joint. He stares out at the round-about connecting the MPD to City Hall. The street is covered in NO PARKING signs but that doesn’t stop an old Jeep Cherokee from swerving to a halt in the culdesac. The passenger door flies open and a blonde stumbles out, teetering on her heels, drunk. She straightens her dress and speedwalks across the lawn, energetic until she spots Bellamy smoking by the outdoor ashtray. She slows to a walk, then a full stop at the bottom of the steps. She looks at him. He looks back. She shrugs, sad. Bellamy stares.

“Are they dead?” she asks.

Bellamy goes, “I have no idea who you’re talking about.” She scoffs, doubtful.

“Are you joking?” He doesn’t think she’s being sarcastic so he shakes his head. “Aurora Andinio. _Aurora_. She’s this tall, brown hair, green eyes, has a daughter, your _sister—_ ”

“Octavia,” he interrupts. He hates when people talk down to him. Of course, he knows his sister’s name. Of course, he knows Aurora. He has no idea who the hell this girl is, though.

“Are they dead?” she asks again. Bellamy slightly shakes his head, preparing to give her the news, but she thinks it’s an answer. She sighs and presses a hand of her chest, relieved.

He amends, “Aurora’s dead. Octavia wasn’t in the car.” The woman pauses and drops her hands so her arms hang at her sides, limp, pale, and long. She stumbles back like she’s been punched. Her eyes move around, observing the large night surrounding her, and she squats down to her knees, her butt landing on the concrete.

Bellamy glances back at the car and catches a glimpse of the driver: another girl, her head pressed to the steering wheel, her long, dark ponytail hanging down her back. There’s something about her that rings a bell, which makes him take in the blonde girl at the bottom of the stairs all over again. He takes a drag, exhales, squints his eyes, and realizes, “I know you.” The woman nods. “From…?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” she says. She stands and straightens her dress. She wipes at her tears and shakes her head, moving back toward the car. She doesn’t say goodbye. She gets in and the car drives away.

But then the car drives back.

The passenger window rolls down rolls. “The motels here are really expensive on weekends. You can stay with us tonight if you need a place.” He smokes, still straining to remember. She catches it in his eyes and sighs, giving him a break. “I’m Clarke,” she says. _Who the hell is—oh._ And then, _God._

“Sorry,” he says. The engine of the girls’ car runs smoothly, the only sound in the night as Bellamy thinks it over. It would be awkward. Maybe embarrassing. They weren’t friends, first out of ignorance but later very much by choice. He’s got no idea why she’s even in DC. She’s rich and educated and has no interest in politics. If Bellamy got out, she certainly could as well. But she knew Aurora and she asked about Octavia, and that’s all Bellamy really wants right now, to be closer to his sister in any proximity. He rubs out his cigarette. “Yeah. That’d be nice. Thanks.”

* * *

Here's the deal about Arcadia's side of DC: it's heavy on the redlining, but there's only one public school. The rich, liberal parents send their kids there to experience the real world before plucking them out and giving them fast cars and internships with executives and CEOs. Everyone knows everybody, so Bellamy was vaguely aware of Clarke even if he never spoke to her.

They met (officially) eight years ago. May 2011. Bellamy remembers it in vivid detail because that's when he was well-liked and everyone thought he was handsome and he was finally a senior. It wouldn't be a far stretch saying Bellamy Blake was the king of the entire goddamn world—at least until May 2011. That was the month he graduated and the month John Mbege died.

Bellamy was the last person he spoke to before he rammed his car into the wall of a CVS Pharmacy.

The moonlight reflected off macadam and was a streetlight's buzz filled the air as another party dwindled down. Several cars packed up and drove away from the Blake-Ramirez house. John Murphy slurred, “Can I just sleep at yours?” and then thunked his head against the pavement when he passed out before Bellamy could even answer. John Mbege laughed and hiccuped his way to his mother’s car.

“You sure,” Bellamy asked, “you’re alright to drive?” In response, Mbege threw his hand aside, a universal signal for _It’s Fine!_

It was not fine.

Mbege said, “Later, brah” and then he left and he died.

Everyone who spent the night at the Blake-Ramirez place didn’t wake up until the next day’s afternoon, and none of them even remembered Mbege leaving, save for Bellamy. John Murphy shook Bellamy awake at 2:33 PM and shoved his phone in his face.

“Dude,” he said, “Mbege died!” He woke up the entire house, kicking and prodding at their classmates strewn about the floors, showing everyone the news so they knew he was being serious. “Mbege fucking died!” Fox, still high from the night before, rubbed her red eyes and smiled.

“Woah,” she said. “At least we don’t gotta call you ‘Murphy’ anymore.” Without a second though, Murphy slugged her in the face. Bellamy tugged himself out of his grogginess and pulled the two apart.

* * *

Back then, Aurora Andinio made it a habit of performing house visits to ensure Bellamy wasn’t dead. A week after Mbege went, she used the key under the welcome mat to unlock the door, carelessly moved around the passed out teenage bodies littered across the carpet, said hello to a puppy in the kitchen (“Where did _you_ come from, sweet boy? Sweetie, sweetie pie!”), filled a glass with water, and finally found her daughter’s half-brother asleep on the living room couch.

“Get up,” she commanded. Bellamy groaned. “I will pour water on you if you do not sit up.” He barely moved. She emptied half the glass. He hollered. She singsonged, “I found it, Bellamy?”

Bellamy spat water onto the floor and asked, “What?”

“Your happiness.” He flopped back onto the couch. It was too early for one of Aurora’s Spirit Talks.

“Aurora,” he started.

“I went searching through some cards and I did some praying and I think I’ve finally got it.”

“My mom said you’re not allowed to do that stuff to me anymore.” This was an empty threat; Isabelle Ramirez was never home. Still, when she made the occasional pit stop in DC, she warned Bellamy to stay away from ‘that white woman’s witchy woo-woo.’ Aurora noded.

“I know. That’s why I used a toenail clipping. It’s far less intimate than a strand of hair.” He nearly asked where the hell she’d found one of his toenails before remembering Octavia’s mandatory pedicure that last time he babysat. “I didn’t even have to guide it, Bellamy. It was amazing. I simply let the Spirit move me and I found her.”

“Who is ‘her?’”

“Your One, Bellamy. Your life’s love.”

“I don’t want a life’s love.” Someone somewhere in the house laughed, which meant Aurora’s craziness was waking people up. They’d start asking questions and Bellamy hated explaining his sort-of-ex-stepmother’s existence, mainly because he didn’t understand it much himself.

“Maybe not now,” Aurora agreed. “You don’t have to marry the girl tomorrow or anything. But at least you’ll know who she is if you ever get bored.” She sat next to him on the couch and eyed his sad, square face. She moved a black curl from his forehead and he cowered away.

“Don’t _do_ that!”

“I'm being caring!”

“No, you aren’t.”

“I truly just want to make you happy, Bellamy. Truly.” She glanced around the livingroom and frowned. “Every time I venture into this place it terroizes me what you’ve done to your poor mother’s house.”

Bellamy responded, deadpan, “If she cared she would be here.” Aurora snatched his chin in between her thumb and index finger and clicked her tongue.

“Poor baby,” she declared him. “I told your One you’ll pick her up tonight at six. I’ve already texted you her address.” He was giving her his Angry Look, his You’re Not My Damn Mother Look, so she said the rest as she made her evacuation out the front door: “And if you could watch Octavia next Saturday, I’d truly appreciate it. I’ll throw in some extra dollars for your little party shenanigans.” She set the half-full glass of water on the ground by the door. “You have condoms, don’t you?” More giggles from the floor. “Could I pay you in condoms? I’m only teasing if you say no.”

* * *

It was the tenth car accident in Arcadia since the year started but the first to result in death. News reporters flocked the Mbeges to ask if they would rally to petition the government for better street signs, though Bellamy didn’t see how that would’ve helped in John’s particular situation. He was a burgeoning alcoholic and an idiot. Bellamy missed him very, very much.

Regardless, he had bigger issues to deal with, namely that Mrs. Mbege has taken to using the media attention to publicly accuse Bellamy Blake as her son’s cause of death.

As usual when he needed quiet from the teen half-way house that’d become his home, he stayed with Aurora and Octavia. When Mrs. Mbege spoke to tonDC news, the three of them had a front-row seat. Bellamy slurped the last of the milk from his cereal bowl.

“That Blake boy!” she yelled. Beside her, her husband nodded in agreement. “He’s what parents should be protesting. He’ll take your child from you and turn ‘em into a demon! See the way he has them kids coming into his house, pipping them full of drugs? My Johnny was a good boy. Suddenly, he came come saying whatever the hell he want, doing whatever the hell he want, saying if I didn’t like it he’d leave.” She stared dead into the camera. “Bellamy Blake? A heathen of a boy! A hellion!”

Octavia commented, “That’s mean.” She said, “You should sure.”

Aurora told her, factually, “You can’t sue for libel when what they’re saying is true.” Then, to Bellamy, “If any camera rushes into your face today, you tell them ‘no comment.’”

Bellamy had many comments.

The whole thing made him feel like an animal, like a zoo thing in a cage everyone was watching on edge, waiting to see how it would eat the keeper's offered steak.

They treated his grief as a game to play. Arcadia’s residents clinked their metal pieces up and down along his body like a game board, and because Bellamy wasn’t a player, he couldn’t win.

No, no, worse—they treated his grief like it was nothing at all, like it did not exist, like he was not the last person to see his friend’s smile and hear his hiccups and feel his laughter, like he wasn’t the recipient of Mbege’s last conscious effort, like Mbege wasn’t his friend, his best friend. One of the best friends he'd ever had.

And he was gone now.

And even Aurora wasn’t on his side.

‘No Comment’ meant they won the game. A reporter accuses Bellamy of being Mbege’s inconvenienced drug dealer and, in response, he prints photos of Mbege’s face and plasters them wherever they can fit. The Mbege's bar him from the funeral so he throws his own goodbye party. Everyone’s allowed to get completely shit faced, and if you care so damn much about it then you order your kid an Uber. It’s what Mbege would’ve wanted.

After, once everyone sobered up, he staged a memorial at the pharmacy his idiot friend completely ruined. Everyone left flowers (Mbege liked tulips) and crosses (Mbege was Christian) and diet beer (Mbege was on a diet for college football conditioning).

The day Aurora announced she’d found his One, Bellamy planned Mbege’s memorial to start at six.

* * *

After telling Mbege he loves him for the last time, Bellamy biked across Arcadia, locked his wheel to the side of a fancy apartment complex, rode the elevator to the top floor, to the penthouse suite, and rang the doorbell only to find out that he’d came all that way to go on a date with Clarke fucking Griffin. But he had manners, so he began with an apology: “Hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“Is an hour long?” she asked.

“Sorry, I was—”

“It’s fine.” Her face was red and she looked like she’d been crying.

“Are you sure?”

“Fine. It’s totally fine.” She closed the door behind her and pushed him into the hall. “Let’s go. I’m starving.” They got to the parking lot and she asked, monotonous, “You came here on a bike?”

He was like, “Yeah.”

“Well,” Clarke said. “I can’t even ride it with you.” _Yeah, no shit_ , he thought.

Bellamy said, tense, “I’m aware of that.”

“Aurora said you’d pick me up.”

“We don’t have to go to California Dreaming, right?” He smiled at his own joke. “We can just walk to the nearest place or something. Where do you want to go?” Clarke’s blue eyes glanced around behind her glasses.

“I can’t walk. I’m wearing heels.” She said nothing for a moment and Bellamy briefly worried she wanted him to carry her. She huffed. “We can take my mom’s car, I guess. You’d have to drive.”

* * *

He felt quite ridiculous. Clarke sat across the table from him in her own vinyl booth. Her accessories were silver and gold. Her eyes shimmered and her hair glittered. Bellamy sprang for two twenty-count nuggets. She didn't seem impressed. He tried thinking of an apology. He wasn’t aware this was supposed to be a serious thing. He obviously didn't believe Auroa was actually a witch, and any young woman she knew well enough to force on a blind date, he assumed, would’ve been more like Roma or Fox, would’ve shown up in a T-shirt and jeans, just happy to score free food.

Before he could say sorry, Clarke asked, “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” he said. “How are you? You okay?” He tried for a joke: “You’ve hardly touched your medium fry.” Clarke didn’t laugh. He noticed her manicure and felt his stomach roll.

Clarke said, “You know what I mean.” He didn’t, which he communicated through an arched eyebrow. “They’re just being kind of mean about the whole thing,” Clarke amended. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

“Well, I am.”

“I don’t need pity, okay?” He didn’t want to talk about this.

“No, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable," she said. "I just feel the media and all the parents are defamatory.” Bellamy had to guess at what ‘defamatory’ meant. He assumed it meant what Aurora had said, ‘libel.’

“It’s not libel if it’s true, though.” He hoped that was how you pronounced it. Clarke was looking at him weirdly. “Right?”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” she rushed. “Like, obviously it wasn’t your fault. It was his fault.” Bellamy sat up straight.

“What do you mean it’s his fault?”

“Like, he’s responsible for his own choices. He was intoxicated and he got behind the wheel. _He_ did that. It shouldn’t fall back on you.”

“Yeah, but if you’re drunk you can’t really be held responsible for your actions.” He wasn’t aware he felt this way until she’d forced him to say it. “Someone should be looking out for you.”

“Being drunk shouldn’t excuse what he did. It shouldn’t wipe away his accountability. What if he hit a kid? And, I mean, if you believe you’re mature enough to drink underage—which is illegal, by the way—then you should be mature enough to handle the consequences.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Bellamy glared at her but she was looking down at the table, talking to it, like making eye contact with him would moot her point. “How are you supposed to learn to handle alcohol if you can't drink it?”

“You aren’t. You just aren’t supposed to drink until you're of age. That’s why it’s illegal.”

“That’s a pretty bullshit way to look at the world," he said. "Not everything illegal is wrong.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, you’re just shit-talking my dead best friend.” She folded her hands in her lap.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He said, quickly, “I’m not upset.”

“You very clearly are.”

“No, we’re just having a conversation, right? Everybody wants to fucking talk about Mbege. Everyone, people neither of us even fucking knew, has an opinion on it, so let’s talk about it then.”

“Is this how you have typical conversations?” She looked around the dirty restaurant.

“What’s wrong with how I’m having this conversation?” he asked. He wanted her to say it. She was thinking it and she was acting like it and treating him like it, but she wouldn’t just come out and _say_ it. They were too different in too many ways. When Aurora (and how the fuck did she know Aurora?) set her up on a blind date, she’d probably assumed Bellamy would be smaller than he was, richer than he was, whiter than he was, more like her than he was, but he’s _not_ and he’s not ashamed of that. He won’t apologize for it. Yeah, actually. Why did he ever even try to apologize for it?

Clarke said, “You’re a bit aggressive, don’t you think?”

He scoffed. “Sorry I can’t just sit here, all prim and proper, while you’re judging me.”

“I’m not judging you.” _Fuck that._ He stood from the booth. “So you _are_ upset!” she said, like she'd solved some puzzle. He felt his face heat up.

“Yes, I’m fucking upset!”

“Why’d you lie about it?”

“Why are you still _fucking talking_?” Clarke backed into her seat, her blue eyes wide. Bellamy felt everything that'd ever happened on the planet. He must have. It was the most he’d ever felt in his entire life, in eighteen years, and all of it was rising in his chest like vomit, begging to be expelled and settle on the laminated table. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what you’re doing," he said, and he cringed because it sounded too much like begging. "You’re, like, sitting there analyzing me. You’re wearing— _that_.” He gestured to her fancy, distracting clothes.

He said, more to himself than to her, “I don’t need whatever Spirit shit this is. Whatever Aurora’s got you roped into, it’s not real, okay? This isn’t real.” He gesticulated by moving his hands between them though, even as he did it, he felt a tangible static **Something** in the air. “And stop _looking_ at me.” He actually was begging now because she'd finally looked away from the table and met his eyes with her own. But her's kept deepening and widening and he felt like he’d fall into her pupils and be stuck floating there for all eternity as some sort of punishment, some sort of hell, and the only words he’d ever hear again would be _Later, brah!_ “Stop looking at me like that.”

“I’m not—I’m not looking at you any way!” Her face turned red.

“You are!” He realized other customers were staring at him. Finally, the lion jumped at its offered steak. Finally, they were getting what they paid for. They were winning. No comment. He turned to exit but then doubled back at the last minute. “Don’t talk about Mbege,” he said. “You don’t get to talk about him. You get to leave this place and go to college or explore the world with Daddy’s credit card. You get everything else. You leave me the Mbeges. Keep our names out your mouth.”

* * *

When he entered Aurora’s apartment on Saturday to babysit Octavia, she immediately looked him up and down and pushed him back outside. He sighed and prepared for the lecture.

Aurora yelled animatedly, her hands flying all over the place.

“You come into my house?” she asked. “You’re gonna try to come into my house with this aura? You don’t come here where I keep my daughter, where I treat my patients, and mess with my Chi, my Spirit.” She shook her head and raised his chin. He was staring down at the ground and she needed him to see that she was serious. “I spent day and night appeasing the gods for you, not even my own flesh and blood, because I was so moved by your heart.” She pressed a hand to his chest. Her other hand moved from his chin to the back of his head, messing with the curls at the nape of his neck, and he felt trapped in her embrace. He thought, _Don't pluck my hair._ “You. Are so. _Sad_ ,” she said. “You’re painting everything you touch blue: me, Octavia, Clarke, the dog.”

He asked, “What dog?”

“I want you to be happy. I see my cards and I’m happy and my daughter’s cards and she’s happy. Even your mother and your father’s cards. They take their time, but they find it. And you won’t let me touch your hair or clip your toes, so I must steal you from yourself just to get a glimpse. I search high and low for your happiness with a _shadow_ of you and all I find is Clarke Griffin.” She clarifies, because her wording may have escaped him: “I mean, _all_ I find is her. She’s everywhere! What lights you up? Clarke Griffin. What feeds his soul? Clarke Griffin. What’ll help him, gods? ‘We already told you, it’s Clarke Griffin.’” She smacked him upside the head. “And I _told_ you if you weren’t ready, then don’t dive in. Just dip in a toe to make you feel better. Do it for me. AND THEN YOU CANON BALLED!”

“I’m sorry,” he said. She’d never yelled at him like this before and he had no idea what to do with it.

“I don’t need that,” she said. “ _I’m_ sorry. I said something last week that I didn’t know you’d take to heart when I should’ve. You’re a sensitive boy.” He rolled his eyes. “You are! You’re not a hellion. You’re good. And deep down, I know that _you_ know you’re good, so you have to start acting like it. Because knowing you’re an asshole and still being an asshole, that’s your father, and I pray every day you two didn’t inherit that. But knowing you’re good? And still being bad, still making mistakes, being an asshole, because, what? You think you make up for it later? You think it doesn’t count since you’re good at heart?” She shakes her head. “No. You have to be better. For yourself. And if not you, then for Octavia.”

“I said I’m sorry, all right?” He moves to go back into the apartment. She blocks the door.

“No! Nu-uh.” She holds him at arm’s length, searching his body like one might eye a thermometer in a sick child’s mouth. “Yeah, you’re not coming back in here until you apologize to Clarke. And I can’t have you around Octavia until you forgive yourself.”

“Are you serious?” He laughed at the pure ridiculousness of it. “Who’s gonna babysit every other day for you then, huh?”

“I’d rather the girl raise herself than be around you while you’re like this. Ugh!” She entered back into her home. “You know what you have to do.” She shut the door in his face.

* * *

He decided to apologize to Clarke on Monday at school and take the weekend to himself. He wasn’t going to go out of his way for this. She didn’t deserve it.

She never showed up. She didn’t appear later in any of their other classes and she wasn’t with Wells by the lockers after school.

So Tuesday, then.

But she wasn’t there then either.

Or Wednesday.

On Thursday, he tried calling Aurora to tell her Clarke was avoiding him and this was stupid and he missed those Greek sausage things she used to make him, and also maybe he missed her and Octavia but only a little bit. Parents were growing strict and the Blake-Ramirez house was empty without its regular rotation of teenage dirtbags. Aurora didn’t budge. Absolutely no house entry until his chakras changed.

He found Wells Jaha in the parking lot after school on Friday. He cornered him in between parked cars and when Wells saw who it was, he slammed back into his door, dropped his keys, and squeezed his eyes closed. Bellamy’s insides flared.

“What, you think I’m gonna shove you into a garbage can or something? Jesus! Straighten up. You look like you’re about to shit yourself.” While Wells regained his dignity, Bellamy glanced around the lot to see if anyone noticed they were talking. He didn’t feel like explaining this, which would involve explaining Clarke, which would involve explaining his crazy sort-of-ex-stepmother.“Where’s Clarke?”

“She’s not here,” he said.

“Obviously, Sherlock. I know that. But where _is_ she?”

“I don’t know.” So lying, then.

“You’re, like, her only friend.” He glared down at him, doubtful. “She hasn’t talked to you this week at all?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I do.”

“Well, I don’t know where she is. Okay? I’ve been texting her the past week and a half. She’s not responding.” Maybe Clarke told him about the date and had warded Wells to lay low if he caught on to her avoiding him. Maybe Aurora was in on it. Maybe it wasn't a lie at all. Bellamy had no idea what to do next. Wells climbed into his car and backed out of the parking spot.

* * *

Bellamy biked over to the complex again, locked up his wheel, climbed to the penthouse, and rang the doorbell. Clarke mother answered. “Hello?" she asked. Bellamy breifly thought that if he wasn’t allowed in Aurora’s home, Clarke’s mother wouldn’t be allowed within ten feet. She was like a living Xanax pill.

“Hi. I’m, um, a friend of Clarke’s from school. Is she here?”

Her mother said, sad and slow, “No.” 

“Do you know where she might be? I’ve got something important to say to her.”

“I have my suspicions,” she murmured. Bellamy thought, _What the fuck do I do with that?_

“Okay,” he said. “Well, if she does come back, could you tell her Bellamy’s sorry?”

“Will do.”

* * *

Clarke never came back to school, not even for graduation. The school attendants moved everyone up a ranking because she was valedictorian. _But where is she?_ They didn’t know either. She hadn’t missed enough school days to cancel her fantastic grades and that’s all they cared about. By not attending graduation practice, she’d opted out of the ceremony, which was completely within her right, and her mother wasn’t worried so neither were they. Nobody really gave a shit where she was except for Bellamy Blake, who was now a high school graduate with a house and alone.

He thought his friends might come back for one last party but no one seemed interested. Everyone grew up and moved on or their parents demanded they grow up and move on. Even John Murphy spent all his newfound free time getting high by the pharmacy. No one could stand to look Bellamy in the eye and see the person who saw Mbege last.

He biked to the Aurora's and banged on the door.

“Let me in!” he yelled. “Aurora, let me in!” Aurora opened the door a crack and stuck her head in the pace. She looked him up and down.

Behind her, Octavia yelled, “Bellamy! You’re back!”

Aurora said, curtly, “Leave.” Then, to Bellamy, “You don’t seem any different.”

“Just let me in.”

“I guess you’re a little better.” She narrowed her eyes. “But time’ll do that. Has nothing to do with one’s actions.”

“Aurora, come on. Just let me inside.” He said, “I don’t—” And then he started crying, which he never did, which he thought he couldn’t do. He didn’t know the last time he'd cried. “Just let me in, please.” He put his head in his hands. The door opened wider and she stepped outside. She wrapped her arms around him.

“I love you, Poor Boy. Baby.” She squeezed him tight. “But I can’t help you. I’m sorry. I tried. I can’t.” And then she stopped hugging him. And then she left him.

* * *

**2019**

* * *

In the car, driving away from the Metropolis Police Department, Clarke sniffles in the passenger seat. She gestures to the driver. “This is Raven,” she says.

Raven says, “Hi. I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Finn’s girlfriend.”

Bellamy thinks. “Finn… Collins?”

“That’s the loser,” Raven agrees. She turns off the highway and onto a narrow road. “I think we only met a few times at your parties.”

Bellamy goes, “Right.”

“God,” she says, “Those things used to _kill_.” Bellamy shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. “You remember those?” she asks Clarke.

“Uh, no,” Clarke says. “I wasn’t invited.” Bellamy shakes his head.

“That’s not true. Everybody was invited.”

“Well, no one really asked me to come.”

“It’s not like we monitored at the door or something.” Clarke doesn’t respond. Raven turns the radio up a few notches and sucks on her bottom lip.

“Bellamy!” she cries, desperate. “What do you do? You live around here?”

“No." He's about to just leave it at that but he remembers Gina saying he never makes an effort to find new friends. He goes, "Right now I’m in Ohio.”

Clarke asks, “Ohio?” in a small voice.

“Columbus,” he says.

She asks, “Why Columbus?” And then, “If you don’t mind saying.”

“We just go wherever they need help.”

She asks, “We?”

“Me, my roommates, my girlfriend. We do Americorps. Help building houses or volunteer work with kids. They move us to a new assignment every few months.”

Raven says, “That’s cool.” Clarke looks back at him, twisting around in her seat.

“Is that how you guys met?”

“Yeah.”

“So you all live together and work together. You just, like, are stuck together?”

“I wouldn’t say we’re stuck. We’re like a family.”

Clarke says, hypothetically, “I guess that’s what families are. Just people who get stuck together and, like, make it work.”

Bellamy goes, I guess.”

* * *

At 8 AM Bellamy schedule a meeting with Diyoza, Octavia’s assigned social caseworker. Bellamy doesn’t think she's necessary. Diyoza just tells them to be at her office by 10.

Raven and Clarke drive Bellamy back to the MPD to pick up his car, then zip off to have something to eat. Bellamy gets to the DCS office, sits in his car, and has a cigarette for breakfast. At ten, he goes in, asks for Diyoza, waits in her office, and, when she finally shows up, asks, “Do you have Octavia?”

“She’s not with me right now, no." He deflates. "You can call me Ms. Diyoza or just Diyoza, whatever’s comfortable for you.” She looks around like someone else might be hiding under her desk. “Is Clarke Griffin with you?” He thinks it's a weird thing to ask.

“Does she have to be?”

“Yes," she says, like it's obvious. "I’m sorry, I thought I made that clear over the phone.”

“Why would Clarke need to be here?” Diyoza opens a manila envelope.

“Well, I was under the impression you both already knew, but now I think I’ll just go over these papers one more time to make sure I’ve got it right before I slip up with the wrong information.” Bellamy rubs his palms against his jeans, antsy. “Yes," she says. "Aurora Blake stated in her will that, should anything happen to her before Octavia comes of age, custody be given to both yourself and Clarke Griffin.”

Which. Like. Of course she did.


	2. Chapter 2

She’s only thinking about it to take her mind off of the Blakes and there’s a lot more to it than she’s currently willing to discuss, but the fact of the matter is if things continue to go the way they’re going (the way they’vealways gone for nearly ten years now), Clarke Griffin will never experience reciprocal love in her life. She’s only twenty-five years old but, if anything, that’s the point she’s trying to make. She’s in her prime. She’s emotionally intelligent. She has great boobs. And yet the only common denominator in every failure she’s ever experienced has been her.

Raven stabs a fork into her waffle and asks, “Are you kidding?”

“I’m just saying this is, like, the second time I’ve found out I’m the other woman.” The first time being, of course, with Raven’s current boyfriend, Finn Collins. Raven straightens up on her side of the booth and finishes swallowing.

She says, “Two is not a big number.”

“It is when you’re two for two.” Clarke’s phone buzzes. She ignores it. “I mean, what are the odds?”

“I said it last night and I’ll say it again: I’ve literally never heard of this Costia chick before. We’ve known these Trikru sorority bitches for how long? Exactly. No one’s ever mentioned a Costia.”

“Yeah, because they didn’t want the other woman—meaning me—to find out about her.”

“Or she’s an irrelevant flake.”

Clarke holds her head in her hands. “I just don’t understand why it _keeps happening_.” It's possible she wants love too much. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket and all that. Wells used to say part of getting anything is giving up something else, but Wells was also a teenage boy who had no idea about anything to do with adult life. Wells never got to twenty-five so he never had to do his taxes or pay rent. All he ever did was read philosophy and study numbers and pretend he didn’t notice Clarke gazing at him from across whichever library they were at. Still, it proved his point: if getting Clarke naked required losing her platonic company, then he resolved to never have sex but always have a friend.

If Wells were here now, though, he’d probably tell her not to take advice from a dead virgin.

Wells is the only person besides Clarke's mother to ever tell her he loves her. Not even Raven says it. Instead, Clarke eats this shitty breakfast at this shitty diner knowing Raven will pay for it despite her minimum wage auto shop job. Instead, Raven drives her everywhere she needs to go and perfectly plans their time together around Finn’s work schedule so the two will never need to interact. She’ll do all this, but she won’t say “love.”

Maybe Clarke Griffin is cursed. Aurora never outright confirmed it, but she always said Clarke “was in for a time during this whole life thing” after reading her palms. Aurora also never said the word “love” but it was implied. Instead, she’d said, “You’re like a daughter to me.”

Clarke’s phone buzzes again. She ignores it again.

“I think I might be meant to live alone,” Clarke muses. “I just don’t think I fit.”

Raven groans. “You’re always so melodramatic before noon.”

“It just feels like the universe is trying to warn me or something.”

“Warn you of what?” Clarke shrugs. Her phone buzzes. “God, just answer it.” Clarke answers it and her world changes.

* * *

“You aren’t sleeping together are you?”

Clarke chokes on her spit.

Bellamy says, “No, no. Absolutely not.”

Clarke blushes. “Couldn’t wait to say that, could you?” she mutters.

“Well, we aren’t.”

“No, I know that. I just meant it was, like, an enthusiastic ‘no’ when a simple head shake would’ve been fine.”

“I’ll make sure to run the rest of my answers by you for the remainder of the meeting, Clarke.” She starts to call him defensive but chickens out at the last second. His maternal figure is dead. His little sister is motherless. He’s learned shocking news and his entire life is a six-hour drive away. Of course he’s frustrated and scared and sad, and people only lash out on the ones they know will stay.

Diyoza clears her throat. “If you’re done?” she asks. They both nod.

Then Bellamy asks, “Is it alright that I nodded?” Clarke rolls her eyes. Diyoza claps twice and they both startle.

“I have to do that with my five-year-old daughter when she’s not listening.” She glares at them. “If you’re not ready for this, saying no is always an option.” Which is completely untrue. No one can say no to Octavia, especially when she isn’t even there to hear it. Clarke spares a glance through the window into the hallway, as if she might catch sight of her.

Diyoza slides two thick stacks of paper across the desk. Bellamy signs immediately. Clarke flips through the pages.

He asks, “Are you waiting for something?”

“No, I just like to read contracts before I sign them.”

“What are you gonna do if you see something you dislike? Start a petition?” He finishes scribbling his chicken scratch signature and drops the pen. Diyoza slides it back to her side of the desk without a word. “If you don’t want to look out for Octavia, you don’t have to.”

“Of course I—” Clarke takes a deep breath. “We’re not ‘looking out’ for her. We’re raising her. That’s what we’re agreeing to.”

“She’s fifteen. Hardly counts as raising.”

“She’s _sixteen_ actually.”

“Oh, you got me.” He huffs as Clarke double-checks a sentence, running her finger over the ink twice. She raises an eyebrow. She points to it.

“What’s ‘temporary placement’ mean?”

“Oh,” Diyoza says, faux shocked. “Are you ready to talk to me now?” She slips Bellamy’s paperwork into an accordion file. “You won’t become permanent guardians until a judge reviews your case.” Bellamy sits up in his seat.

“So, what, anyone could just come and take O away?” Clarke’s brow furrows at the ‘O.’ It rolls off his tongue so easily, implying a relationship she’s never noticed over the past few years. Any mention of Bellamy was cut short since he left. Clarke breifly entertained the thought Aurora had some sort of alarm system set to make her phone ring anytime his name came up. Octavia used to wonder aloud about her brother until learning it'd get her nowhere. Sometimes Clarke forgot he existed.

Diyoza says, “No, not anyone. Me.” Clarke sets down her pen, fully attentive now.

“You?” she asks.

“As Octavia’s caseworker, it is my job to perform impromptu visits, conduct interviews, and ensure you’re suitable caretakers. When it’s time to go to court, the assessments will be used to decide if Octavia should stay in your care.”

“I’m her brother. Who else would she stay with?”

“Don’t believe every complaint you hear about the foster system. You’d be surprised how many healthy, prepared parents are awaiting children like Octavia every day.”

“But you can’t just _take her away_ if you feel like it.”

Clarke interrupts, “No one’s saying they’ll do that.” He ignores her.

“So I have to meet a complete and total stranger’s requirements to look out for my sister?” He’d said it again. _To look out for her._ Like Aurora's just out for a few minutes going shopping and needs the neighbor to keep an eye on any cars in the driveway. Like Aurora was on vacation and needed someone to water the plants. Like Aurora was coming back.

The worst thing about grief is you can't comfort it away. Even if you know what it feels like. Even if you're feeling it too.

Clarke knows a lot about saying goodbye. She’s been abandoned and left alone. She’s been cheated on and rejected. Her mother’s moved on with a new husband in another state and she doesn’t have a father anymore but if she did she knows he would only let her down as well. Yet everywhere she goes, she places small grains of sand in everyone’s tight grip, hoping for a pearl one day. She may not be cursed, but she’s definitely persistent. She doesn’t give up. She doesn’t know how.

She eyes Bellamy as he pushes himself out of his seat to make himself look bigger and realizes now that, though he’s taller and tanner and his curls are more defined, he hasn’t changed much at all. Something about him is still regal and holier-than-thou in a factual, unemotional way.

He says, “I’m all she has.” She's surprised by the wave of hurt that washes over her. She’d like to think Octavia has her as well. Perhaps she’s given Bellamy Blake too much credit. He’s confident and loud but that doesn't mean he's right. He hasn’t lived here in years. He doesn’t know Octavia’s school or her age or any of her friends. He’s never been to one of her piano recitals, never heard how awful she is, never seen the determination on her face to finish the concerto anyways. Diyoza doesn’t fall for his act either. She glances up at him like he’s a bug on the wall, a small thing reaching for the top rather than a tall man towering over her. She folds her hands in her lap.

What comes out of her mouth is cold and clinical like a surgical scalpel: “Bellamy, you are a twenty-five-year-old with a diploma and volunteer experience. You’re inattentive, aggressive, and, frankly, rude as hell.” He scoffs. Diyoza fixes her gaze on Clarke, making her shift uncomfortably in her seat. “Clarke, you’re well into your twenties and cannot drive. You’ve graduated college, which is better, but you’re unemployed.”

“I’m a volunteer, too,” she mumbles. “Well, an intern. Apprentice. Or I was. For Aurora.”

“Since the second you stepped into my office, you two have done nothing but argue. You’re a volatile pairing and—I’m sorry for bringing this up again—you’ve never slept together? That’s the story you’re sticking with?” Clarke rolls her eyes.

“We went on one date when we were in high school.”

“Must’ve been some date,” she says. “Octavia is a fragile teenage girl who needs a stable environment now more than ever, and if you cannot provide one, I ensure you I will find someone who can. Bellamy, if you’d like to remain with your sister, I behoove you to fix your attitude and treat Ms. Griffin with much more respect than you’ve shown her since meeting me.” Clarke feels something angry swirl in her chest. She should be able to stand up for herself this way. She shouldn't need some stranger to help her. Bellamy doesn’t meet her eyes. His hands clench into fists.

“Any more advice?” he asks.

“You'll need a solid mode of transportation. You’ll need to agree on Octavia’s living arrangements. Work with her teachers, make sure her grades don’t suffer during the transition.” She takes another look at them. “Genuinely, do _not_ sleep together. Your relationship may seem bad but trust me sex can make anything worse. I’ve seen it. I've moved kids for less.” She taps Clarke’s contract. “And finish signing.”

* * *

Octavia sits in the lobby. Whatever temporary foster family she was placed with are long gone. A plastic bag lies at her feet. Clarke and Bellamy stand in the doorway, letting in the warm end-of-summer air. A receptionist tells them to come in and Octavia turns to face them. They stare at one another.

Clarke can tell it takes a moment for Octavia to place her brother. She looks him up and down, confused, and then meets Clarke's eyes and bursts into sobs. Clarke's never seen Octavia cry, not because she doesn't do it at all but because she usually refuses to do it outside of her locked bedroom. The pure shock of seeing her so torn and hurt, so unable to help herself, brings tears to Clarke's eyes as well. She says, “I know,” even though she doesn’t know anything and “I’m sorry” even though she has nothing to be sorry for.

Bellamy steps toward her, his arms opening for a hug, and Octavia side-steps him completely. She rushes to Clarke, puts her head on her shoulder, and opens a sky of rain. Over her head, Clarke watches Bellamy watch them, sees the practiced straightness of his mouth, the dull sheen over his eyes, and remembers.

* * *

The first time Clarke heard Aurora Blake’s name, she was with Wells trying to flirt again, and he said it as a joke. He was like, “You could get your palm read or something and see if a psychic has any advice.” Clarke barely heard him.

“Try to read mine now,” she insisted, and she shoved a textbook aside and laid her hands flat on the table, palms up. The teen section of the library was separated by glass, so talking was allowed but only in a hushed whisper. Clarke liked Wells when he was quiet. She assumed she’d like him loud as well but he never raised his voice, ever, which only served to make her more obsessed. Everything about him was incredibly refined and proper. She wasn’t sure what about that made her want to jump on top of him at any given moment and make all of herself touch all of himself.

She wanted to feel him forever and talk to him forever and just drown, drown in him.

He only seemed to want her spot as valedictorian.

“I’m not a palm reader,” he said. No fun. Clarke wiggled her fingers.

“Try anyway.”

“I literally wouldn’t even know where to begin.” He moved his deep brown eyes away from her and started punching numbers in his calculator again. Clarke slumped back in her seat.

“You never play along,” she said.

“I don’t want to encourage you.”

“Why not?”

“You’re gonna get us in trouble.”

“With palm reading?”

“With anything, Clarke.” His voice was low and deep and sent chills down her spine. She liked when Wells talked like Clarke was a temptation even though she knew she absolutely wasn’t.

Maybe it was the fact Clarke was conventionally attractive or that she’d gotten breasts in the fifth grade, but the people who knew her (her mother and Wells being the sole people in that group at this point in her life) thought of Clarke as a trouble maker. It was a funny contrast, as all the people who _didn’t_ know her barely thought of her at all. They only saw a blonde blob moving through the hallway. They only thought of her when she was ruining the curve.

“You’re, like, scared of me,” Clarke surmised. Wells made a _mmm_ noise. “So I should get my palms read to figure out what to do with my life? That’s your advice?” He made no noise at all. “You know me better than some witch doctor, right? What do you think I’d be good at?”

He said, completely serious, “I think you’re great at everything.” She felt her face heat up. She was absolutely positive she’d marry Wells one day. The only future she was sure of involved him loving her. She was so in love with him she thought she might die if he didn’t kiss her soon. “That guy’s step-mom or whatever reads palms.”

“Huh?”

“Guy who throws all the parties? Blake? Bellamy?”

“Huh.”

“You could go there.”

“Sure.”

* * *

Clarke, of course, had no way of knowing Aurora Blake had spent three weeks prior to their initial visit plotting and scheming a way to finally make Bellamy happy. When her doorbell rang, she sent Octavia to answer and flipped more cards.

“Hello,” Clarke said. “I have an appointment with Aurora?”

“She’s praying right now,” Octavia said. In the kitchen, Aurora screamed. Clarke took two steps back.

“Should I go, or?”

Octavia turned her head. “AURORA, YOU HAVE AN APPOINTMENT! SHE WANTS TO LEAVE!”

“Well, I never said—”

From further in the house, a response: “JUST LET HER IN, OCTAVIA! LORD!”

Octavia turned back to Clarke. “She says you should wait inside.”

“O...kay.”

* * *

Aurora flew about her kitchenette leaving a trail of silk behind her. She sat down at the dining table, fixed a look at Clarke on the other side, and smiled. “Aw,” she sighed. “You’re in love!” Clarke blushed. “That’s good! Don’t be embarrassed. I’ve never fallen in love. I’m still waiting. I’m jealous.”

“You can tell I’m in love just by looking at me?”

“Oh, sweetie, it’s all over you. Smells of roses.”

“Is it gonna work out? Will he love me back?” Aurora held open her hands.

“Let’s see, shall we?” Clarke gave over her palms. Aurora lowered her head so close her nose bumped against the pads of Clarke’s fingers. “Let’s see, let’s see. Long and happy life. Good for you. Healthy. You’re in for a time in your twenties. No way to prepare for that but try to meditate. Keep yourself centered.”

“But the love?”

“I’m not finished yet,” she quipped. “Oh! You’re not a cheater, are you?”

“I’ve never even had a boyfriend.”

“What about a girlfriend?”

Clarke said, “I don’t like girls.”

Aurora’s eyes narrowed. “Hmm. An interesting twenties indeed, then.” She continued on: “Your sun and fate don’t intersect, which is good. No codependency. You won’t need love.”

“But what if I want it anyways?”

“Why want what you don’t need? Why take away from someone else, huh?”

“Everybody wants to fall in love,” Clarke said.

Octavia called from the living room, “I don’t!” Aurora lifted her head.

“And so you won’t, my child!” Then, lowered, to Clarke, “I’ve seen her husband already. I’m training him.” Aurora’s confidence didn’t leave room for doubt. Clarke laughed.

Clarke wasn’t sure what Aurora believed in, but she sure believed it convincingly and wholeheartedly, and that was enough to make Clarke envious. She hadn’t committed to anything in her life besides homework. She often found herself wanting everything ( _everything_ ) and then never attempting to grab any of it. Brave people made it look so easy. How on earth did they do that?

“Will I get married?”

Aurora said, “No.” Clarke yanked her hand away. “I wasn’t finished.”

“I don’t want to hear anymore.”

“I’ve barely even looked at your love line. Don’t be scared. If you don’t like what I say you can always pretend I’m crazy.” She waved Clarke forward. Again, their hands touched and Aurora brought her face down close. “Right. Quite deep, a branch or two then one, solid thing. You—” Aurora stopped, just stopped. She looked horrified.

Clarke asked, “I don’t catch something, do I?” Aurora looked up and there were tears in her eyes. Clarke stiffened.

Aurora said, “Oh!” She said, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

* * *

The Andinio-Blakes were Clarke’s favorite pastime. She’d taken all the required credits and opted to leave school hours early to intern for Aurora, to book her clients and clean her used tea leaves.

Octavia sulked. “But that’s my job.”

“You weren’t very good at it, dear,” Aurora said, factual. She often spoke like this to her daughter, straight and without inflection. It was a stark contrast to how she treated Clarke. For instance, she’d once taken a nap on Aurora’s couch and woken to the woman petting her hair. When Aurora hugged her, she felt held and special and loved. There was no easing into her live. Aurora reasoned there was no need to waste time. Best to just pretend they’d known each other all along. Clarke once read the line, _The quickest way to tell if you can trust someone is to trust them_. Aurora seemed like the human embodiment of that.

“I never see Bellamy around here,” Clarke mused once. Aurora froze in place. She was mixing something in a bowl, preparing for dinner. Octavia’s disastrous keyboard-playing floated in from the hall, a cacophony of pre-teen angst.

“He’s rarely here in the afternoons,” Aurora mumbled lowly, which was concerning as she was the loudest woman Clarke knew.

“I see him at school all the time.”

“Do you talk to him?”

“We’re not really friends,” Clarke said and Aurora snorted. “What?” Aurora shook her head. “Well, maybe I can come by earlier and meet him.” She liked to pride herself on being the only girl in the senior class who didn't have a crush on Bellamy Blake, but she knew it was probably only because they never interacted. They barely even saw one another. She liked the idea of him, though. A partying Demi-god type who used his powers for nothing at all except having fun. An enticing sentiment to a young woman who never had fun at all, who felt the most thrill in her life when Wells, an equally nerdy boy, pushed her sagging glasses up her nose.

Aurora said, short and simple: “You can never do that.”

Clarke wasn’t used to hearing ‘no.’ She had money and her mother was rarely around. She grew up with a credit card raising her. There was no one to listen to, much less anyone to give orders. The only rejection she’d experienced thus far was from Wells, but even his saying ‘yes’ seemed eventual.

Clarke asked, “Why not?” There was a stubborn, childish sound to her voice Clarke wasn't aware she could make. Aurora hummed. “Aurora, why can’t I meet Bellamy?”

Aurora said, “ _Hmmmm!_ ” She narrowed her eyes and touched her fingers to her chin, as if deep in thought. She then began whispering the lyrics to OutKast’s “Hey Ya!”

So that was pretty much the end of that until after Mbege died. Aurora explained that she felt it was time for an intervention. “Nothing too serious, but he could use a pick me up.” She smiled. “Prepare for a wondrous night, little Clarke. You can thank me later.”

* * *

Clarke did not thank Aurora obviously.

“Bellamy says you haven’t been to school.”

Clarke shrugged. “I was practically finished anyways.”

The television cast the dark living room in blue, then green. Aurora took a blanket from the floor and tossed it over Octavia’s sleeping frame beside her on the couch. Clarke said, “I think I might leave soon.” Aurora’s face twisted in confusion.

“I’d advise against that.”

“I’m just gonna go home.”

“I don’t think that’s what you meant.” Aurora looked at her from across the room. Clarke was sitting on the floor, her head resting on her raised knees, her glasses low on her nose. “You’re going somewhere? Somewhere far?” _She's a mind reader_ , Clarke thought but no. That couldn't be it. What _was_ she? Clarke exhaled, soft and long.

“It’s just something Bellamy said. It made me think.”

“You shouldn’t let Bellamy persuade you to do anything, especially while he’s like this. He’s—well.”

Aurora said, disappointed, “He’s turning into his father.”

“What’s his father like?”

Aurora scoffed. “He’s the type of man to cheat on his wife, get a woman pregnant, and never speak to her again. Apparently, he’s the type to do it twice. At least.”

“Why do you think men do that?” she asked. “Why do you think men leave their kids?”

“Because they can,” Aurora said. She shrugged. “If I could, I’d leave mine too.” She watched Octavia’s belly rise and fall. “I shouldn’t be a mother, honestly. I probably shouldn't have even been a daughter. Some women aren’t meant to love or be loved, I think. I think that’s why I like you so much. You’re like that, even if you don’t want to be.”

“I can be loved,” Clarke said. “I love people.”

Aurora asked, “Who?” Not mean. Just curious. Bored.

Clarke had never called another girl, let alone a grown woman, a bitch before, but she was ready to.

Aurora continued, her voice lost and young, “I’ve always been alone. I’d started to like it. And now I’ll never be alone ever again until I die. I’m not sure I’m up for that. Or that I’ll be good at that. I don’t know if I’m meant to carry someone.” It was a bit late to be considering this, Clarke believed. By several years.

Clarke said, barely containing the anger, “Your daughter is sleeping right there.”

Aurora raised an eyebrow and asked, “Should I be like your mother, then?” Clarke was stilled into silence. She did not speak of her parents, not even to Wells. But Aurora was otherworldly, barely human. She didn't need consent for memories. She'd just take them.

She’d said once any human being could see life the way she saw it, as a circle instead of a long line. _That’s how God sees it_ , she’d said. _It’s why God doesn’t mind when a child dies of cancer or from war. You see everything all at once and nothing seems too bad._ Now Clarke thought if you saw everything at once it probably made you an asshole. To see all the pain in the world and shrug it off seemed psychopathic.

Aurora said, “Should I pretend it’s all okay even when it’s clearly not? Insult my daughter's intelligence? Alienate her? All because of my bad decision?”

“Don’t call her a bad decision.”

“She’s my daughter. I can say what I like.” Who was this woman? How did Clarke think she’d known her at all? Aurora took a deep sigh and covered her face with her hands. “This is Bell’s fault. He’s ruined our moods.”

Clarke said, again, “I’m going.”

Aurora laughed. “Really, I don’t think you should," she said. “Look at us! We’re arguing. We never argue.” Clarke stood and Aurora shook her head. “Really, I didn’t mean to hurt you. This is why he’s not allowed back until he apologizes to you.”

“What?”

“I said he’s not allowed back here until he’s told you sorry.”

“Why would you do that?”

Aurora looked like it was obvious. “He’s ruined us, Clarke! And he’s only been soured now for how long?" She shook her head. "One angry man can cause total wars.”

“You can’t—he’s not just some man. He’s your son.”

“He’s not my son. Right now, especially, you’re more my kid than he is.” She stood and rubbed her hands up and down Clarke’s arms. “Don’t go. Really. Don’t leave.”

Clarke huffed. “You want to be alone so bad," she accused, hoping it would sting. But Aurora just smiled at her, waiting.

Clarke stayed.

* * *

**2019**

* * *

Once Bellamy pulls into Aurora’s driveway, Octavia clicks out of her seat and throws open the car door before he moves into park. He and Clarke watch from the front seats as she fishes through a fake plant, digs out a key, and unlocks the door. A medium-sized mutt rushes out the town house to greet her.

Bellamy asks, “Aurora has a dog?” But his voice doesn’t go up at the end, so it sounds like a statement, not a question. Clarke side-eyes him.

“It’s yours.”

“What do you mean?”

“She stole it,” Clarke says. “From you.” Bellamy almost laughs, and its a stunning change. His face lights up, then dims back into stoicism.

“I’ve never owned a dog in my life,” he swears. Clarke hums. “You kind of remind me of her,” he says. "Aurora." And then, “I’m sorry.”

She asks, “What for?”

“For all of it.” He looks up at Octavia petting her dog (his dog?) and takes a deep breath. It’s been so long. Clarke realizes he’s probably scared.

“You think she’s still in there?” she asks.

“What?”

“Like, haunting the place?” The dog overpowers Octavia now, taking her down to the cobblestone. Bellamy shivers.

“She told me I was never allowed back inside. It just feels weird. Like I’m breaking a rule.” The Bellamy in Clarke’s head doesn’t give a shit about rules. She tries to separate the him from the man sitting beside her now, the man who is sorry and a volunteer who travels around the country without a solid home so that other, less fortunate people may have one themselves. He’s a man based in Ohio, who stays with a girlfriend he hasn’t mentioned since and friends. _How many friends_ , she wonders. What does he enjoy? What does he hate besides maybe her? Who is he? She can’t wait to meet him.

Clarke says, “She kicked me out, too.”

Bellamy chokes on his laugh. “No shit. You?”

“Mm-hm. For a month.” She tries to raise her voice a few notches, then furrows her brow. “‘You come in here? In my house? With my daughter? With bad vibes?’” Bellamy lets out a surprised shock of laughter. “The most exhilarating vibe checks of all time. She should woman the gates of heaven.”

“So you worked for her.” Bellamy says. She nods. “How’d that happen?”

Clarke shrugs. “Looked good on a college application.” Now his brown eyes widen, the first sign of emotion since he came back.

“You worked for her in high school? I never saw you. Ever.”

“She separated us, apparently.”

Bellamy sighs. “Oh, right. Because you were My One.” He laughs like it’s ridiculous, like Clarke’s in on the joke. Her blood brows furrow.

Clarke asks, “I was your what?”

“The blind date fiasco?” he asks. “Aurora said she’d found the love of my life and I needed to, like, introduce myself.” Clarke stares at him. “What?”

“She told you it was a blind date?”

Bellamy asks, “What’d she tell you?” Clarke turns to face the house again. Octavia sits with her dog, her head raised, her eyes roaming this home that is half a home now. The world is so big. All three of them are terrified by it.

Clarke sighs. “That fucking bitch.”

* * *

Aurora didn’t own the townhouse and Bellamy still technically lives six hours away, so the three of them must move into the penthouse suite under Clarke’s name on the other side of town. They pack up Aurora’s things into a storage shed to piece through later, clean the dog shit out of the carpet, and wade through Octavia’s room.

“You can just chuck the keyboard,” she says. “I wasn’t any good.” Bellamy moves toward it and Clarke stops him with a gentle hand on his arm. He’s sweaty from all the moving, they both are, but Clarke’s hand is cool to the touch and sends a shiver up to his shoulder, so violent it nearly brings him to his knees. He jerks away but she doesn’t notice. She’s looking at Octavia.

“You can’t throw it away. You love playing.”

“ _Aurora_ loved me playing,” Octavia says. “And not even because she thought I was good. She just liked the idea of having a piano prodigy as a daughter.”

“I’ve seen you play,” Clarke insists. “You love playing. We’re keeping it.” Bellamy wishes he could add to this debate, but he’s never heard Octavia so much as whistle.

Clarke tapes up another box and zips through a mental checklist. To keep Octavia, they must (1) stop arguing, which it now seems they’re capable of doing; (2) secure a place to live, which they’re working on currently, (3) fix Bellamy’s temper and (4) teach Clarke to drive. The latter two both seem impossible, but she feels she must be the bigger person.

“Bell,” she says. Octavia perks up at the nickname. She eyes them both, curious. “You should teach us how to drive.”

* * *

It’s not until all three of them are in the car that Clarke realizes what an awful idea this is. Octavia’s eager to try and she steers the wheel with a crazed smile, but they get to the light at the same intersection where it happened and there are still bits of crushed metal on the side of the road. She pulls into a parking lot and sits both hands in her lap. She says, without turning around, “You go.”

Clarke falters. “I’m good, actually.”

Bellamy asks, trying to lighten the mood, “Why don’t you drive?”

Clarke says, “I’m gay.” She’s not, technically, and that joke is usually reserved for the Trikru girls or Raven or literally anybody else. Her face burns red.

Bellamy glances back at her, sees she’s serious, and then loses his mind. She’s not used to making people laugh. Bellamy makes her feel she should invest in a stand-up career or at least a solid routine. He wipes tears from the corners of his eyes.

Octavia goes, “You’re not homophobic, are you?”

He’s still shaking off the last bits of laughter when he says, “No.” Then, “It’s just ironic.”

Octavia asks, “How?”

Clarke says, “Don’t tell her.”

Octavia barks, “You never tell me anything.” The exchange is so child-like Bellamy feels as though he’s watching two sisters argue over toys. He wants to join in.

“Aurora tried to set us up,” he says. Clarke glares.

“I _said_ don’t tell her.”

Octavia asks, “When did that happen?”

He says, “Senior year.” He asks, “Why can’t I tell her?” Octavia considers this. She looks down toward her lap, jumping mental hoops trying to piece her own life together.

She asks, “So just before you both disappeared?” Bellamy’s still loose from his laughter. He’s not thinking about protecting anyone, only of defending himself.

He says, “I didn’t disappear. She wouldn’t let me come back.”

Octavia guesses, “Because of Clarke.”

He starts, “Well—” He looks to Clarke in the backseat for help. He thinks this is a funny story to relay to their only connection, this girl who is somehow both their sister, patron, and a total stranger. Clarke doesn’t meet his eyes. He says, “I guess? Mainly me, though.” He says, “I was mean. So—”

“So you weren’t allowed into the house because you were mean to Clarke? Because, what, she had a little crush on you and you rejected her and that’s why I got fucking left here?” Octavia glares at him. Usually, people look away, avert their eyes to their laps. Octavia looks straight into Bellamy's eyes with her own, with eyes that look exactly like his. He doesn’t know how to backtrack.

He tries: “Well, obviously that’s not what happened. She’s gay! She’s a lesbian.” Clarke cringes. “Are you not a lesbian? You just said—”

“I can’t _believe_ this.” Octavia turns around in her seat, facing Clarke. “You knew this entire time why Bell was gone and you just didn’t do anything?”

Clarke says, desperate, “I _couldn’t_ do anything.” 

Bellamy says, “It’s not her fault.” But instead of simmering down, Octavia points her rage at him.

“You never came back because of _Clarke_?” And when she boils it down that way, it sounds ridiculous. But it seemed bigger then. He was eighteen and the only adult in his life told him not to come home, so he didn’t come home. He left and found a new family and moved on like all his old friends had, like he thought he was supposed to do. He couldn’t imagine a world in which he stayed. What could he have done? Waited at Clarke’s door until she finally returned from wherever it was she’d gone? Snuck into the Andinio residence to help Octavia dress her dolls?

What about _his_ life? He couldn't just wait around for someone to forgive him. He had to forgive himself. That was the whole point he wasn't allowed back in the first place.

Octavia says, “You left me with her. You both just left me.”

Clarke says, “I didn’t leave you.”

And Octavia counters, “No, you just came back.” Bellamy feels like he's missing something.

“It’s not like Aurora was gonna kill you in your sleep or something, O,” Clarke starts up. They both yell over one another now. “She’s your mother! We didn’t leave you. She was your _mom_.”

Octavia yells. “She hated me! She fucking couldn’t stand me! If you didn’t want to stay with her, why would I?”

Bellamy says, “Aurora didn’t hate you.”

“You didn’t know her.” Octavia glares. “She didn’t want me. She wanted Clarke.”

“Well, he’s here now,” Clarke says, angry. “And I’ve _been_ here. And she’s gone. So what? Does it make you feel any better?” Bellamy looks back at her, shocked. He’s no idea what he’s stepped into, who either of these girls are. “You can’t keep blaming me for everything wrong that’s ever happened to you. They could take you away. Do you get that?” She and Octavia are eye to eye, glaring over the center console. “Your caseworker Diyoza could show up whenever she wants and take you, and you’ll be stuck with total strangers until you’re 18.”

"What? You'd just let them _take_ me?” Tears start to drip down Octavia's cheeks. Not from sadness but anger now. Her eyes are on fire. "What's the plan if that happens? What do we do?"

Clarke says, without a beat of hesitation, "We run."

Bellamy can tell she means it.

* * *

“I think we should talk.”

Clarke looks up from her book. Bellamy stands in her doorway, topless. She doesn’t get how men are allowed to be naked. They jog and sleep and wander about half-clothed and no one’s allowed to bat an eye, but she once got sent to the office in grade school for showing too much shoulder. Bellamy is miles and miles of brown skin and curly black hair. He leans his head on the doorway and something about the look of him makes Clarke curl her toes.

She says, “Yeah, probably.”

“I missed a lot. Obviously.” He crosses his arms. “And whatever happened in the car today… It was like I didn’t know her at all. And I guess I don’t anymore.” He concedes, “I also don’t really know you either.”

“Same to you,” she says. He shakes his head.

“No, I’m an open book.”

“Not in any language I can understand.” He shuffles closer toward her. Clarke thinks, _Do not sit on my bed. Do not look at me. You have a girlfriend. I will not be the other woman._ She asks, “What’s your girlfriend like?” Bellamy doesn’t pause as he sits at the end of her bed. He doesn't even get the insanity of it. He's one of _those_ boyfriends, Clarke realizes. The kind who doesn't think other girls notice him. Ridiculous. She can't _stop_ noticing. He shrugs.

“Like me, I think." He amends, "Me, but nicer.”

“You think you’re not nice?”

“No, I know I’m mean.” _How refreshing_ , she thinks, _that he knows himself and isn't embarrassed._

“I don’t know if mean people do all that you’re doing.”

“Well, nice people certainly don’t take eight years to apologize.”

“I hate the idea of you having that hang over your head.” Clarke sighs. “I forgave you the second after you said it. All that shit about me being a poor little rich girl. Whatever.” She chances a glance at him only to see he's already looking at her. He doesn’t break eye contact. Something inside her melts into goo. “It was really fucked up, her not letting you see O. And I knew it was wrong, otherwise I wouldn’t feel so guilty about it. I should’ve stood up to her.”

“You wouldn’t have changed her mind.”

“I still should’ve tried.”

“It wasn’t just the apology,” Bellamy says. “She said I was, like, contagious. I was ‘painting everybody blue’ or something.”

“No, she just needed somebody to blame." Clarke tells him, "We got into a fight after. And I said I'd stay and talk it out, but I didn't. I left. For a long time, I left.”

“Not as long as I did,” Bellamy says because it's true. Clarke sighs in a sad sort of way. It’s unfortunate Aurora’s not here to defend herself, to explain the things they don’t understand and apologize for the things they do. Bellamy asks, “How does a psychic die in a car accident?” It sounds like the set up for a joke. Clarke tries to think of a punchline. Something about seeing it coming and getting hit anyways.

“Aurora wasn’t psychic,” she says. She narrows her eyes. “If anything, she was too normal.”

“How O talked about her today…” He shook his head. “How bad was it?”

“You’ll have to ask O that, I think.”

“Well, what happened to you? Where’d you go? Why’d you come back?”

Clarke leans back against her pillows. She says, “Um.”

“You don’t have to tell me.” But she will. She can tell by the way he stands and tells her goodnight and asks if she wants the light turned on or off. She can tell by the girlfriend who exists but doesn’t, by the temporary home they share a whole six hours away as opposed to the temporary one right here that he's trying to make permanent. She can tell by Aurora, who promised _you're in for a time_ and said _I've been looking everywhere for you_ and _I was waiting for you_ _!_ It didn't make sense then even if it's starting to now. Nothing ever makes complete sense, Clarke thinks. Nothing is understandable but everything happens anyways. Even beyond the grave, Aurora’s not done tugging and pulling fate until it does exactly what she wants.

Aurora and Wells. Finn and Lexi. They're all watching her somehow. She can feel their eyes on her. She won't be free until she shakes them off.

 _Tomorrow, I guess_ , Clarke reasons. _I’ll tell him tomorrow._

**Author's Note:**

> harass me on Tumblr @crownsley


End file.
